Inspired by Stanley Kunitz


 

(c) Melba Christie 2018

Every spring I try to plant a beautiful garden like the ones I have seen in magazines. No sooner I plant Begonias, Calandula, Petunias and Pansies, our resident cottontail rabbit and  occasional visiting deer snap up the fresh or new blooms.

The rabbit loves the clover that grows wild and free in our backyard. Clover is a weed but I cannot bring myself to stripping it because it has very dainty white flowers and because I too love the green leaves.

Therefore, my garden is composed of large ceramic pots. I have resigned to the fact that I may never have a garden except for the improvised one on our deck.

So what does Stanley Kunitz have to do with my want to be garden? Nothing really. Except that Mark Doty once described how Mr. Kunitz would walk through his garden “paying strict attention to every inch of it.”

I too thought about Mr. Kunitz’s  visits to his garden.  My grandmother never left her house for years except to step out into her small garden. Hers was a real garden.  She talked to the flowers and plants; she claimed they would grow more and bloom more robustly.

Thus, I wrote a poem about her love of nature and especially her garden.

 

Grandma only felt safe in her garden

the lavender plant soothed her soul

and helped her cope with her phobia.

 

On a few occasions, I heard her sing

to the tiger lilies. They leaned and seemed to listen.

She stood very still as if she were watching out

for prey like the cottontail did on the grassy lawn

there were no prey to speak of

no one would ever harm her

but she listened carefully to nature’s sounds and warnings

every morning among the daffodils

She is gone now

and so is Stanley K.

I wonder if they stand together

in heaven’s divine garden

praying for us here on earth.

 

 

Crazy Dream


I read somewhere that in order to diversify your themes and topics for writing poetry or stories,you should write down the things you dream about as soon as you awake. Last night was full of  pleasant dreams for the most part. I have mentioned before my dreams are usually colorful and many times surreal. My dream last night was about my mother who passed away about twenty-two years ago. In this dream she was very chatty. We sat alongside sipping from our favorite mugs. I still have hers.

The second part of my dream took place in this beautiful but surreal garden. I could actually smell the essential fragrances of the flowers and herbs. I felt like I was at a spa. The colors blended and kind of melted into each other. Some of the plants and flowers actually spoke to me but I cannot remember any of It.

I started painting what I remembered right away. Please send me your opinion and comments; I just love when I get comments.

 

Happiness in the present


Happiness is in the present

 

It’s here now.
right this moment,
Stop and listen:
Its whisper
will mesmerize you.
Stop for a minute and breathe;
Its scent is in the rose.
Stop for a second and
let your yourself feel;
Its touch is like a child’s heartfelt hug.
Stop for an instant
It looks like a rainbow.
Stop and savor the moment
It tastes like cotton candy.
Happiness is right here.
Don’t let it go by you.
It is in the present.
Just pay attention.
 
 
 
Melba Christie @ 2013